Whiplash
by Ellarose C
Summary: “Just remember, I own a Rottweiler, a variety of machine guns, and the blueprints to your house. I would be extremely careful in anything you tried to pull off.” PruCan two-shot with protective America.
1. Chapter 1

Whiplash

I really should've known that day was going to be interesting when I woke up on Canada's couch. Again.

I sat up slowly, the blanket I didn't remember putting on last night sliding down onto my lap. Sun was coming in through the window but my suspiciously alcoholic headache seemed to be able to handle it.

"Good, you're awake. Come on, I've got what you need," a soft voice said from behind me. I smiled blearily, rubbing all sorts of things from my eyes. Canada sat down on the coffee table next to me, his almost-patented hangover cure in his hand. "Here." I took the glass and held my nose, anticipating the burn of both the ingredients and the liquid itself as it scalded my tongue and roughed up my pallet. It worked best the closest to boiling it was but that didn't mean it didn't hurt like a mother going down.

I gasped, my head infinitely clearer. "Thanks." He smiled just a little, then took the empty glass from me and stood up, heading back towards the kitchen. "Breakfast'll be ready in a moment," he called back. I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning back into the overstuffed throw pillow. His voice was almost as soothing as his bizarre hangover cure.

"Did I do anything incredibly stupid last night?" I asked him as I sat up for real and followed him after a few minutes of breathing. I was still in yesterday's clothes, so it couldn't have been too bad.

"Well, you managed to make my brother furious beyond repair again. So, nothing out of the ordinary," he informed me with the blunt tone he used with his sarcasm, turning his head to talk over his shoulder. Today it was Belgian waffles and scrambled eggs.

I grinned as I inspected his fridge, pulling out the apple juice and pouring us both a glass. "How did I manage to do that?" He paused in the middle of sliding the last waffle onto a plate and made a face at the air as he thought.

"I'm really not quite sure. I think it involved a stop sign and a switchblade, though," he said after a moment, going back to his previous occupation. We sat down at his table with twin stacks and maple syrup quietly, both too tired for too much conversation.

"Is there anything important I forgot that I had to do today?" I asked him idly after we were done, taking his plate and putting it in the dishwasher.

"Probably." I laughed. I didn't know how anyone could forget this guy. He's absolutely hilarious.

There was an awkward silence as we stood in the kitchen, dishes put away and life set back to normal. "I should probably head out before West puts out a search warrant for me," I finally said, breaking it, jerking my thumb out the back door. He smiled with just a bit of nervous tension in his expression.

"Yeah, I guess so." Another awkward silence as he blushed and refused to meet my eyes. I rolled them instead and, before my audacity could balk, crossed the kitchen in a few long strides and kissed him, my hands cupping his face. He smiled into the kiss and wove his fingers together behind my back.

"Love you," he whispered when we finally drew away.

"Of course," I smiled back. "What's not to love?" I pressed my forehead against his, hoping he could read my mind and know I meant the same. His eyes smiled through his glasses.

Abruptly he spun me around and slapped my ass toward the door. "Now get out of here before I call Germany for you," he told me playfully. I laughed loudly.

"Aye aye cap'n!" I saluted and backed towards the screen door. He leaned back with his elbows on the kitchen counter and smiled as I left.

I was halfway down the alley behind his house to the bus stop at the end of the block when a shadowy hand grabbed my elbow and pulled me into a crack between a fence and a house, slamming up against the rough concrete of the house's garage. I was winded and confused and dizzy, which wasn't helped by the arm encased in loose leather pushed up under my chin against my throat, which also shoved me up so I had to stand on my toes. I gasped, my vision settled, and America's angry eyes appeared three inches in front of my face.

I choked. "What-"

"I'll be doing the talking right now, Prussia," he growled, shoving his arm higher up on my throat to force my chin back. I gasped for breath, my windpipe crushing itself as I stared in shock and mild horror at America's shining eyes. "I know Canada thinks you're so great and awesome and everything he wants right now, and he's obvious head over heels for you, but- _listen!_" he said menacingly, shoving me again as my vision started to bubble with black and my eyelids fluttered closed. I felt myself losing consciousness, but I managed to get out a (very manly) squeak.

"Can't… breathe…"

"What? Oh. OH!" I barely registered America's thought process until the arm suddenly backed away. I took a deep, shuddering breath, coughing and wheezing. America's presence was still on my neck, but at least it wasn't making me a pancake anymore. I was able to open my eyes once more, but instead of the expected slightly guilty and very sheepish blue eyes I expected to see, they were unfazed by my struggle. If anything, righteous burning anger had fallen away to cold fury.

"I know my brother loves you right now," he continued, calmer but no less terrifying because of it, "but if you step a toe out of line – an inch, a hair, a jerky movement – your ass is _mine_." I was completely frozen for a comeback. How could you come back to that? I blinked at the icy anger displayed in the usually chipper nation in utter shock for a few more seconds as he glared at me. A flash of light briefly shone through the backyard behind me and reflected off his glasses, and for a moment his eyes were purple. Something in my snapped and clicked, and I grinned.

"What's the matter, America? Intimidated by the awesome me?" I asked him, my usual cockiness flowing back full force. It was his turn to blink in surprise, although he didn't take nearly as long to recover as I had before he was glaring again. Maybe it was because he didn't have a superhuman pressed against his throat.

"Listen to me, you greasy pale mongrel of an outdated nation," he growled, moving slightly closer again, bracing his other hand on the wall beside my head. His forearm cut back into my neck, but it wasn't as painful this time. "I love my brother, and I want him to be happy. I'm _not_ about the put that happiness in the hands of one of the worst, most self-centered, irresponsible nations I have ever had the unfortunate chance of meeting!" he snarled at me. My grin turned into a smirk.

"I see England and his vocabulary has been rubbing off on you." I couldn't believe I was taunting America – an angry America with my life cutting into his ulna, no less – but I couldn't resist. I cocked my head as best I could and licked my lips. "You know, you remind me of someone right now, but I can't exactly place it-" Quick as thought, his hand on the wall flashed down to my wrist and spun me so I had my cheek cutting into the scratchy concrete and his forearm against my spine and my arm in a vice grip, straining it in its sockets.

"You fuck with me anymore and I break your arm," he whispered fiercely into my ear. "Just remember, I own a Rottweiler, a variety of machine guns, and the blueprints to your house. I would be extremely careful in anything you tried to pull off." He was a forbidding block of warm behind me, and the eye I could see was even more riled up than he had been before he pulled me into the alley.

"Heh. Whatever you say, brother," I breathed. He finally, finally backed away, and I massaged my neck slowly. "You know, you totally didn't have to do that," I told him slowly, working out the kinks from my muscles. "I like the kid; I would never intentionally hurt him."

"Oh." The anger finally dissipated. Blink blink. "You could've told me that from the beginning, you know."

"Three reasons I couldn't," I said as I rotated my head and heard the bones in my neck crack. "One, you were cutting off my air so I could barely breathe, let alone talk. Second, nothing I said could've made you stop before you made your point. You're just as stubborn as I am. And three…" I shook my hands through my hair to get flecks of concrete out. "Like I said earlier, you reminded me of someone." I grinned in what I hoped was a feral way. I loved shocking him so much.

Blink. Blink blink. Comprehension. (Comprehension didn't dawn on America, it exploded.) He had a moment of intensity flash over his eyes before he suddenly realized what he was dealing with. He burst into laughter, and it was impossible for me to do anything but follow along. His laugh was even more infectious than his smile.

"You're a sick fuck, but maybe you're not so bad after all," he said after we calmed down, slinging the same arm that had been choking me around m shoulders, leading me back to the main alley. "Wanna go eat somewhere?"

"Nah, I just ate. Anyway, I ought to be getting back to Germany…" We had reached the end of the alley and the bus stop when I suddenly realized that the bus I had just missed would not be coming back for an hour. "A ride to the airport would be awesome, though," I added. He chuckled, unslinging his arm to fish his keys from his pocket.

"Not a problem."

* * *

{A/N: This is a two-shot. The next part will be up either later tonight or tomorrow afternoon, depending on how much I procrastinate tonight. The next part will be smut.

This is also an experiment to see how many times I can switch the tone around in one story.}


	2. Chapter 2

The next time I saw Canada wasn't as awkward as I feared it would be. For one, we weren't quite alone at first – Germany and his little toy were there with us when he came – coming to visit me this time around instead of vice versa. For another, America wasn't there. Despite the amiable company we had split with back in Ontario, I still remembered the feeling of being between a rock and America far too much for my liking, and I hadn't decided yet whether that was a good thing or not.

By now, however, we were, by anyone's measures, alone. We were curled up on his couch in Germany's basement, who had long since sent Italy home and gone to sleep. Canada was curled up so close to me he was basically on my lap, head tucked under my chin as we watched the only decent thing on television at one thirty in the morning (some badly dubbed Russian war movie). I traced small circles on the skin of his lower back idly where his shirt didn't quite reach his jeans, staring at the movie but not taking in anything. Russians were boring anyway. All snow and no bite. My brain kept supplying me with images of America, eyes turned bright purple by the sun, threatening, maddening, furious, resembling- guh.

"Something wrong?" Canada asked me, straining to look up at my face. I realized I was gripping the waistband of his jeans tight enough to make my hand shiver, and I let go quickly, although I didn't withdraw. I liked having my thumb just barely under his underwear and my fingers brushing his ass.

"Just thinking, that's all," I said dismissively, trying to stamp out images of an overprotective powerful Canada from my mind. Damn America and his twin attractiveness.

He sat up a little, which had the benefit of forcing my hand farther into the back of his pants, so he could frown at me properly. "You never 'just think'," he pointed out. "What's really wrong?"

"What makes you angry?"I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Blink blink. Just like his brother. "Eh?"

"What makes you angry?" I repeated. "I mean, you know I hate Russians and jazz music and when people get your name wrong-" that made him smile, as I knew it would- "but I don't really know what makes you angry."

"Oh." His eyebrows furrowed as he thought, and I used his moment of inattention to stick my other hand in mirror position and pull him completely on my lap. He made a small yelping sound, but didn't protest as he settled into the straddle and let his wrists fall onto my shoulder. Angry or not, he looked delicious.

"I really don't like hamburgers," he said, slightly more timid than usual. I chuckled and pulled his hips closer to me, him biting his lip to keep from gasping.

"I didn't ask you what you didn't like," I murmured, craning my neck a little to slide my face over his slightly exposed collarbone. "I asked what made you angry." I felt his breathing quicken under my check and smiled. He was definitely cute enough to eat.

I tilted my head back a little so I could taste the area I had just marked, humming. His fingernails clutched at the back of my neck as his breathing sped up again. He leaned forward to let me keep going, but I backed away and smirked up at his glazed eyes.

"I'm waiting."

He whined and tried to press himself against me to try and distract me, and although he made my head spin I wasn't going to let him overpower my awesome senses. Not yet.

"The playoffs," he gasped. "Hockey playoffs. They always make me frustrated," he said quietly. I bent forward to kiss his neck. God, the sounds he made were wonderful.

"Anything else?" I whispered against his skin.

"I _hate_ it when people call me America," he grumbled, passion starting to filter into his tone. I grinned against his throat and kissed the underside of his jaw, which made him tilt his head back with a sigh. "And I don't hate America himself, but he just… riles me up sometimes," he admitted, his head falling back down to look at me, eyes beginning to take on the anger tone.

I disguised my sharp inhale by saying, "Imagine that." He smirked – he should _definitely_ do that more often – and reached down himself to kiss my mouth, already open, pulling me closer by my neck. My hands were in his back pockets by now, and I clenched my fingers as he worked over my mouth slowly. My eyes were half-lidded as I watched his face as he kissed me; I couldn't help myself, he was fascinating.

"Anything else?" I breathed into his mouth. He groaned against my tongue, so I released my grip on his ass and made to withdraw my hands completely. His hands quickly shot back to my wrists and held them in place. If he had been any less aroused I'm sure he would have blushed at being caught enjoying my shameless feeling up.

As it was, he forced out, "When the garbage men in Toronto go on strike in July," before dropping down to my neck and biting it. My eyes widened and my smile spread even as my mind went blank. I liked this.

I stared absently at the ceiling as he continued to bite and suck at my neck (what was it with the Americas and necks?), every part of me hypersensitive to where he touched me. What he said finally clicked in my head, and I chuckled. "Really?"

He growled at me and pulled back so he could glare. "You try living in a crowded city in the dead of summer with garbage piled up on the sides of the streets." A bark of laughter escaped me, and he smirked again. "I hate it when hockey sticks break on slap shots," he whispered, and I shivered as if he was talking about something far more risque than hockey. His hands finally released my wrists and worked their way under my shirt, feeling my stomach up as shameless as me. He leaned forward again and kissed me, prying my mouth open with a degree of bluntness that was refreshing and invigorating - I couldn't remember feeling that with him before. I responded in kind, pulling him as close as possible without osmosis. I felt like I would melt up into him anyway.

He bit down onto my lip and the back of my mind noticed a deliberate nature to his movement, but I didn't care until I suddenly flopped over and found myself on my back with Canada crouched above me. He grinned, his glasses flickering blue in the light of the TV.

It was my turn to growl as I pulled him down to me, eating his face more than kissing but I didn't care, they were both the same to me at this point in the foreplay.

"My Parliament has always bothered me," he said after he pulled away, his hands on my chest and my shirt halfway off. "They seem to care more about scandal than actually fucking _getting things done_." He had to know just how sexy he looked just then.

"Do you have any idea how sexy you look right now?" I asked him, sliding my hands out of his back pockets slowly so I could grip the underside of his thighs for better leverage.

He slid his hands all the way up and pulled my shirt over my head, throwing it to the side. "Hmm. Maybe now I do." He was constantly smirking now as his hands slid down my stomach, gripping my sides before he started to pepper kisses on my shoulders and chest. "Should I go on?"

_"Yes_," my throat strangled out, fingers digging into jeans as he hummed his way down my torso. He was making me unable to do anything but breathe, and sigh, and moan oh right there yes-

"I hate baseball," he said, his voice a rumbling purr against my skin. Good God, his voice could seduce a tree.

"Fascinating." I hadn't absorbed anything of what he said, I just wanted him to keep talking, whatever it was, he could insult me for all I cared, just keep the sounds, the words flowing like clouds-

He reached my hips and traced my hipbones with his tongue. My own jeans had long since grown tight and my hands had relaxed to rest loosely in the curves of the back of his knees. "It's America's sport, so maybe that's the reason I dislike it so much," he continued, tracing his fingers just underneath the top seams of my jeans, each touch making my spine shiver like touching poorly made velvet. "It's boring, too. Too much waiting, not enough fighting," he rambled softly, playing with the button on my jeans, twirling a nail around the metal.

I opened my mouth to tell him that there would be fighting if he didn't get the fuck _on_ with it when he stopped playing with me and unbuttoned my jeans, sliding the zipper down and my jeans as well, taking my underwear with it in a sloppy motion like letting down Venetian blinds. Even with his unusual self confidence he wasn't used to topping. It was so endearing.

"Ah, come here, you," I laughed, using my hands that were still hooked into the cavities behind his knees to pull him up closer so I could kiss him. He squeaked at the sudden movement, but caved and melted into my mouth, tongue pressing softly against mine, hands still working at my lower abdomen blindly. I let my hands wander up the outside of his thighs lightly, tracing four-lined patterns through the denim as I slowly worked my own way to his fly. I lazily pulled my leg up to prop my foot up on the couch, my thigh barely grazing his rear.

He gasped loudly as one of my hands finally worked their way underneath his pants to his erection, gripping it lightly. "I can't _stand_ when people call me 'polite'," he breathed, arching his back and tilting his head to rest between his shoulders, his hands scrabbling for purchase against my stomach. I laughed again, rocking my hips up to bump against him and my hand and everything. His head fell back down to stare at me, eyes alight and mouth twitching. "You should know I'm anything but polite."

"Show me, ple-" I begged, cut off by an angry kiss, a bite to the neck, the shoulder, and then he was back down and shoving my bent leg to the side and _God_ where did he learn to do that with his _tongue_-

-And then he pulled away suddenly, patting me like a dog, the blow job only lasting a second and I whined, long and loud. He chuckled in his throat, continuing to pet me, but nothing else. I bucked up into his hand, but he brought his knees together to pin my legs together and to the couch. "Not tonight, love," he murmured, glasses foggy and dusty blue. "Tonight we're at my pace." Words could not express how excited that sentence made me.

"Bring it."

A truly feral grin twirled up the corners of his mouth and he turned his head sharply, looking around the room for something. Before I could pull words together to ask what it was, though, he had vanished from my lap, then reappeared with a bounce that made me hurt vaguely, but not unpleasantly. He held up his find – a roll of shiny black tape I recognized as hockey, brought over on a cold day when he was attempting and failing to teach me how to play it – and I gulped in anxiety and anticipation.

Moving with his brother's speed, he twisted my hands together over my head and wrapped tape around them randomly but securely, climbing up to tear the tape with his teeth close enough to my skin that I could feel his lips. I closed my eyes and smiled languidly, the heat of his stomach hovering over my face. I could work with bondage.

More ripping sounded above my head and extra pressure was added than I expected; I opened my eyes to find Canada's toothy grin above me now. I tried to move my hands and found them taped directly to the couch. "You're a sneaky bastard," I told him, lifting my upper body as far as my bound arms would let me to try and touch him. He pulled away just enough that there was half an inch beyond my maximum range and where his lips were.

"I know." He quickly pulled his own shirt over his head by the hem, his glasses lost in the folds somewhere and his hair scattered but he didn't pause to fix either error, but just went back to the problem of teasing me as much as I had teased him. He licked upwards in a slow spiral, and my eyes closed again as I pressed my shoulders and head into the couch and pushed my hips up, not caring if I choked him, he needed to stop fucking teasing. Dammit. "You know what else makes me angry?" he said quietly, voice vibrating and breath heating and how did he expect me to answer when he talked like that? "When people suggest that it's cold and wintry all the time at home," he mumbled right before he finally, _finally_ stopped teasing and swallowed me whole.

I screamed; there was nothing else I could do when he pounced like that. I bucked and strained as he petted the underside of my erection with his tongue slowly. Good goddamn, that tongue. (The back of my mind said that America taught him that, as much as his brother used his mouth, but it was just a dirty little rumor between the voices in my head so I did my best to ignore it.)

He started humming and my scream choked off in favor of trying to keep breathing. He laughed at me and my eyes fluttered, indecisive between open and closed and ending up somewhere in the middle, sightless but cracked, all of my senses completely concentrated on the feeling of Canada between my legs, twisting and turning and fuck it _all_.

Just before I could climax, though, Canada withdrew, leaving me cold and wet and painfully aching. My resulting groan covered several octaves, but he just laughed at me, reaching down to finish the job I had started before on his pants. He pushed them down roughly over his socks, shoes long since vanished (probably upstairs), and pressed hard against me, not pulling any punches as he fiercely attacked my neck and gripped the sides of my ribcage. I kissed him back hungrily, twisting into his touch as best I could, sloppily gripping his waist with my legs for better leverage. He smirked into my mouth and one of his hands disappeared for a moment, digging under the couch cushions before he found what he was looking for and pulled out my secret bottle of lube.

"I obviously know you too well," he whispered into my mouth, and I moaned, bucking my hips up to rub our erections together to hint at my painful desire. He was almost as hard as I was, so no time was wasted in slick fingers sliding inside me. Stars of pain crossed my closed eyelids; it had been far, far too long since I had been on the bottom.

Judging from the success of this little venture, I didn't see that being a problem in the future.

His fingers curled and scissored, and I lost all control of myself, moaning and whining and arching and how could this feel this good, why didn't I do this before-

After a moment of incredible loosening, his fingers left me empty and I whimpered. He leaned forward, my erection in one of his hands and his in the other, to whisper in my ear, "You know what else makes me angry?"

My entire body shivered, and since I could barely string two thoughts together, much less words, I made a questioning whine, continuing to push my hips up at him.

He positioned himself, then continued, "When people suggest that the Arctic isn't fuckin_g mine_," slamming into me on the last word.

I shrieked. I couldn't help it. My hands tore at each other, at the air, the ridiculous tape still clinging to the fabric of the couch as my heels pressed into his spine and my toes curled, my entire body convulsing from the sudden pain. It had been far, far too long.

He waited a moment, but not long enough, before he set up a rhythm, a somehow wet hand on my lower back to aid with our movements, and I was still bucking up, I had never stopped, even when it was hurting too badly for me to think straight-

He was still murmuring in my ear, but I was beyond even coming up with a meaning for his words anymore, I just wanted the sound of his voice, good goddamn why hadn't I come yet, there was no way I hadn't, it was too much, too much

Canada's hand was firmly wrapped around my base, keeping me from coming before he was ready. I panted in time with our pattern, unable to do anything but respond and breathe and buck and respond. He growled like a bear and slid his hand down my erection and I screamed again as I came, spilling out and staining everything white, including my vision, and I vaguely registered Canada's teeth digging into my shoulder before he spent himself inside me as well, sighing and licking the salt away from where his mouth was resting on my skin.

When my thoughts came back to something like normalcy, he had pulled out and was in the process of untaping my hands from the couch. "That," I breathed, heart still racing, "was the hottest thing you've ever done."

He laughed, no longer in the maniacal way of before but still awesome. "Thank you." My hands were released and I reached up to pull him against me, twisting onto my side with him in front of me. I rested my nose on his shoulder, delighting in the scent of him, something unnameable but sticky sweet. The blanket draped over the back of the couch was pulled down over us by one of our hands – I had ceased to notice which one – and I loved him as I felt him soften in my grip.

"You know, I didn't exactly come here thinking we were going to have sex," he mumbled as his eyes closed softly, reaching out to the remote on the coffee table to turn off the television, which was still on the Russian war movie.

"If it makes you feel any better, neither did I."

* * *

{A/N: Sorry this took longer to get out than I told you. It got a lot longer than I expected.}


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